Written by Big M
Foodge’s nightmares continued unabated. Every night, between three and four Granny would be woken by his thrashing and groaning. It was always the same dream; Foodge’s disembodied head in a box. Every time Granny gleaned little bits of additional information before Foodge slipped back to a slumber punctuated by snores, coughs, obstructive episodes and loud farts. Sometimes Foodge replied in Spanish. Occasionally he’d stand up and try to micturate behind the tall boy. One time he was as randy as all hell, but every time he had no memory the next morning. Granny spent the hours between Foodge’s dream and dawn pondering the meaning of these dreams.
Foodge has experienced a reasonable day, that is, until Father O’Way arrived in a pretty summer dress with his hair tumbling over his shoulders and his old navy tattoos on display for all to see. “Call me Mother O’Way!” He gushed.
“Mother O’Way!” Merv erupted. “Mother Fucking O’Way…how about Get Outta the Fucking Way?”
“When did this change occur?” Ventured Foodge.
“Yesterday’s episode.” O’Way was coquettishly twirling his longish grey hair between her fingers.
“Christ, talk about one dimensional characters, what about Mrs O’Way?” Merv quickly poured a second glass of Crème de Menthe.
“It’s over, she’s an extreme heterosexual, a homophobe of the highest degree!”
“So she’s available?” Merv rubbed his hands together.
“I don’t care what happens to her.” O’Way sounded quite melodramatic.
“What is the Church’s position on all of this?” Foodge had managed to pry his eyes away from the train wreck known as Mother O’Way, and pour himself a South Seas Island rum.
“The Bishop is way cool with this.” O’Way had located a compact in his purse and was busily caking powder on her nose. “He thinks this turn of events to be rather modern.
“What about Gordon O’Donnell?”
“What about Gordon O’Donnell?” Everyone turned to behold Gordon’s wonderful visage (actually he looked like an old derro).
“Oh, well, your majesty, ah, I mean your honour, um, what are your thoughts on Father O’Way becoming Mother O’Way?’ Foodge stammered.
“I’m the sort of chap who wouldn’t care one way or another, but, when he’s got such a beautiful looking sheila, and, bear in mind, that it took me months to get this pair together, and, the fact that he’s only doing this for dramatic effect…I don’t approve!”
O’Way was crestfallen. “What do I do now?”
Gordon put a comforting arm around the Father’s broad shoulders. “The missus hasn’t seen you like this?”
O’Way shook his head.
“Let’s keep it our little secret. Perhaps you can frock up when she’s on a weekend away?” Gordon looked around the bar. “It is our little secret! Know what I mean.”
Merv and Foodge nodded enthusiastically, not wanting a bolt of lightning through their skulls.
“I’ll have a word with the Bishop, if he’ll listen to me.” Gordon had a twinkle in his eye.